All that Remains
by PlantMurderer
Summary: A Monologue from the point of view of Milana, Mother of Maerad and Cai/Hem. These are her thoughts on her daughter and on the things and the people that she lost when the Dark destroyed Pellinor. *Mild spoilers for The Naming **Maerad monologue added 3/21
1. All That Remains

They are gone. It is all gone. Only she remains. I know it in sleeping and yet the knowledge strikes me upon waking like the mace that struck my husband's head and took him from me. They are gone. My husband, my son, my School, my home have all been burned to ashes. Maerad lives, but she has been robbed of everything that Dorn and I wanted for her. I watch her sleep on the thin straw pallet and I mourn my inability to offer her the warm bed and sheets of our home. I give her what I can while I still can.

I am dying here. I know it. My son is dead or worse. I saw the one love of my life die defending me. The School that I swore to protect with my life is now a ruin, the first casualty of the Dark as it begins to take shape.

Maerad lives. She smiles when I play songs for her or when I kiss her forehead. She wrinkles her nose and moves when she ought to be still and widens her eyes at the sight of shooting stars. She lives as much as anyone can in this place. She is so much stronger than me.

I gave them my son. I told Enkir where he was, where he should have taken if all had gone according to plan. I looked at my daughter, the blade cutting into her throat as her voice rang in my ears and I chose her life over his. I can rationalize it in any number of ways. Maybe he would escape. Maybe Branar and Cai hadn't arrived at the caves yet. His fate was so much more uncertain than that of my baby girl, who was screaming for me to make everything right. She was screaming for me to stop this man from hurting her. She was screaming for me to be the mother that she'd always known me to be, but how could I? Dorn was dead and my School was in flames and the air smelled of scorching blood and flesh rent from bones and she was crying for me to stop this man who was going to kill her slowly. I gave them my son.

How can I live now? How can I smile as I play for her and kiss her forehead? How can I playfully tap her nose or tickle belly while giving her the stern eyes to stop her squirming. How can I share her wonder at those shooting stars? It's hard to look at her sometimes. I chose her.

I know, somewhere in my mind, that it was out of my hands. He scried me. He forced his way into my mind. The Dark chose my son, they wanted him and that they were willing to kill Maerad to get to her brother was not my fault. Somewhere in me in me I know that, but then I remember the words coming out of my mouth and I feel that desperation again. I see my home become a battlefield and I watch my husband die again.

Then I look at Maerad. I see the welts and the bruises from her beatings. They beat her, after I gave her brother's life in exchange for hers. I know that I am going to die here. Seeing them hurt her will kill me.

She lives and she hopes and she has a gift like none I've ever seen. That gift protects her even untrained because it lets people think her a witch, and makes them fear her. I won't ever tell her the truth behind her gift. Why should I? What sort of Bard could she hope to become here? Why should I burden her with tales of her stolen birthright?

It's getting late, so I close my eyes and move closer to Maerad on the small pallet. I dream of Pellinor when it shown with life and beauty. I feel Dorn's rough hand brushing hair out of my face or and warming my own hands as we walk in the snow. I feel Cai's soft skin and hair as he babbles and laughs in my arms. I am playing my lyre before a crowd of Bards as Maerad hides in my skirts. I am bathing in warm water with scented oils and sleeping in the softest bed that my mind can dream up.

In the morning I will rise and the pain will come again. Nearly everything that I love will still be gone. I will braid my daughter's hair before sending her off to her duties for the day. I will play songs for her on the lyre handed down to me from my mother. I will give her what I can for as long as I can. My baby girl, my world, will have all that is left in my power to give her, because only she remains of all that that I have loved in this life.

* * *

Hey people, I wrote this because there aren't a lot of fics that center on Milana and she deserves some attention. I drew a lot from pgs 419-424 of the paperback edition of The Naming. The fic takes place about a year after the sacking of Pellinor around a year before Milana's death. She took such a fall in life, from First Bard to slave and she was still someone that Maerad could remember fondly, for that she deserves some respect.

If you're curious this isn't in the Before The War collection because Milana had already entered the war by this point.

Thanks eternal and heartfelt to my reviewers become one of them because they are the cool people and not the creepy mutant robot cool people who really ought to be sent in for moral training and psychiatric evaluations, the real cool people.


	2. Love

She is gone. I know that much. She loves me. She braids my hair. She sings to me and tells me stories till I sleep. I love her. Why shouldn't I, she's my mother. She's gone though, left behind somewhere on the mountain roads between here and home. We came here around a year ago. I still saw glimpses of her in those first days, so maybe she's here somewhere. Maybe she just needs time or home to make her feel like coming out. The mother from before is gone.

I remember her, a little. She sang with my father and played her lyre in the pretty room with all the people. I hid in her skirts away from the eyes. She was so busy, always coming and going. She was important to the people. She was warm and she smiled. The mother from before held my hand and led me through gardens. She sang me story songs about our home. She whispered stories of glowing warriors who beat back the Dark. She is gone.

She shushes me when I ask about the men and women who glow with power. The songs she sings don't tell about home now, only strangers, countless strangers who found love or died alone. She holds our home like a secret. She keeps herself a secret. I miss the world from before. I miss Cai and Father.

Father sing to me once more. Cai toddle a few more steps toward me. I promise I'll take you exploring with me, just giggle and reach for the red flower again. Just be something other than gone. Please be something more than memory. It's all memory. All that remains is her, and not even all of her. All that remains is her love for me. Mother, I'm sorry. I love you.

I remember home. I remember music and warmth and the feel of Father's skin beneath my fingers. I touched his lips while he sang and he stopped and smiled at me. I touched Cai's mouth too sometimes because his laugh was like music. Cai just opened his and wet my fingers and went back to back to his toys. Once he bit me. Father taught him to say "sorry".

When I remember, I'm happy that they aren't here. They might be like Mother, all gone except for love. I don't have to lose parts of them in memory.

She braids my hair. She touches my face and wraps me up in herself when it's cold. I love her. She is my mother. She cares for me as no one will ever know. I smile and show her stars and get into small mischief hoping to make her less gone. It doesn't work very well, but she gives me gentle looks and tells me that she loves me, so it can't be hurting anything.

Maybe I should forget about the mother from before, forget home. Maybe I should let Father and Cai become sweet dreams, no longer thoughts for waking times. She looks so sad when I whisper to her about them or ask her about the place beyond life. She told me once about that place. She told me that there is Light there and love. When all else is gone, there is love.

I know that. I have known that with every note that she plays for me, with every embrace from her thin arms and every kiss from the lips that touch my forehead. I have seen it in the hands that play with my hair as I pretend to sleep, the hands that hold her lyre. In the end her love for me, love for what is lost and for what yet may come to us, is all that remains.

All that we knew before is reduced to ash and memory. All that remains is love.

* * *

Hey, someone requested that I continue this so I figured I'd try my hand at Maerad's point of view. Thanks immensely to my reviewers, you guys are awesome. People who alerted or favorite this are also great, and if you fall under both categories, you might be the absolute coolest ever.


End file.
